Grafting
by Imperial Pigeon
Summary: Pa glares at him, his hand already reaching for the bottle. "One day Stark Industries will be yours – " and yeah, Clint is so out of here. – the avengers, AU.
1. Chapter 1

_._

_Clint  
><em>

_._

The old man's babbling about something or the other. "Fuck-off, Pa," Clint says. "I gotta go."

Pa glares at him, his hand already reaching for the bottle. "One day Stark Industries will be yours – " and yeah, Clint is _so_ out of here.

.

_Steve  
><em>

_._

Sometimes they call him "The Good Assassin," and Stepan refuses to take that in the way it's meant. Tucking his gun into his jacket, he stops in at a restaurant and scarfs down a quick, if huge, lunch. Since the serum, he's been eating more than a snow leopard and he's been avoiding the vodka - there's little point in enduring the burn when you can't get drunk,

He tips his waitress 50%, like he always does. It's been a hard few years, here in Russia. She needs the money; they all do. And maybe people are being mocking, when they call him good, but Stepan kills because that's what his country needs him to do and there is_ nothing _wrong or bad about that.

.

_Bruce_

_._

"Bruce!"

Bruce hides his flinch and walks over, head held low.

"Heard a few books went missing last town we stopped at," the ringmaster says. "Eyes on me, rat. Now look, I'm not telling you this again. This circus doesn't want thieves. You stop, or you get."

_You're all thieves_, Bruce thinks. _You're worse than thieves_.

"Y-yes," he says.

"What was that?"

"I said I understand."

"You'd better."

Bruce thinks of the chemistry textbook stored in his pack and thinks, _I could blow you apart I could blow this down I could blow you up into bits_.

.

_Tony_

_._

Woah now, that's a real sexy dame leaning on over. "I saw them give you medal," she says, tongue licking the champagne off her lips. "What for?"

There's an opening just begging to be taken. In more ways than one.

"Doll," Tony says, "those boys out there are fighting for us, dying for us, and here on the home front us mechanics are just doing our best. With what I've made for our country, there's gonna be a million more of our boys coming home - all of them will come home, if I've got anything to say about it." And as she smiles coyly, he takes a sip of his drink and thinks, _What now world? What now for little Tony? _

_I'm not just a boy from Brooklyn anymore._

_._

_Natasha_

_._

_His lips smell of liquor._

Natalia washes the blood off of the knife and then stores it in the basement, with a pile of other silverware. She lies in bed, her blood hot under her skin, until she falls asleep and her alarm rings and she rises. She showers, long enough that steam moistens the walls. Pulling on some clothes, she walks downstairs, hair wet, heart beating.

She enters the front room and screams.

First Ms Heisler will come, the nosy bitch. Then the police. Then they'll lead the shocked girl with the wet hair over to sit down and gently tell her that her father must have been drunk, must have gotten in a fight. A wonder he made it home.

She'll think of her mother and she'll cry loud and wet.

And then.

As she hears Ms Heisler's slow shuffle up to the door, Natalia allows herself a quick smile.

_Father is dead._

.

.

.

tbc . . .


	2. Chapter 2

_._

_Clint  
><em>

.

Well, on the one hand, they're really fucking crazy. On the other hand, no way Pops will look for him here. They call themselves the Anachronism Society, blissfully ignorant of the fact that their initials sound like ass. Aw well, Clint isn't going be the one to enlighten them. They'd taken a real shine to him, it seemed, after they'd found out that he could use a bow. Thank god for high school archery lessons, that's all Clint's going to say.

With a bow in his hands again, Clint rediscovers what he'd found out once before. He's good with a bow, damn good. His P.E. teacher had recommended he enter a competition, but of course dear darling daddy wouldn't have that. No son of his was going to waste his time with caveman weapons, not when Stark Industries was producing the leanest and the meanest killing machines on the line.

The Anachronism dudes may have made him chuck his electronics, but that's no loss. Clint had been planning on doing that anyway – he wouldn't put it above Dad to have put a tracking device in everything he owns. Even his clothes, but a cute redhead has promised to teach Clint to make himself some new ones. He's hoping she won't be too eager to put clothes on him. Rather the other way around, he's hoping.

Clint's been dirty rich all his life and it's never made him happy. He'd loved camping trips the best, the ones Mom would take them on when when he was younger. Mom's gonna be sad to see him gone but the bare honest truth is that Mom's always sad, watching Pa drink with her big sad eyes, insisting on dinner in a low sad voice. Stark Manor is a sad place to be and Clint just couldn't take it anymore.

So maybe he's the world's worst son, but out here the air is clear and smells of pine and really, he's never been happier.

.

_Steve  
><em>

_._

Stepan knows he looks a picture when he smiles – flaxen hair, wild-flower blue eyes, too soft to be anything but kind.

He's not fond of strangling, but he can't deny there's less blood to clean up. The man's on the thin side and his struggles are as pathetic as a chicken's. This man was a traitor, but no trained spy. Stepan sometimes wonders if that makes him better or worse. What does it mean, when a man turns on his Motherland? What sense can be found in that?

Stepan sighs, and closes the dead man's eyes. He'd hope the man does better in the next life, except Stepan's pretty sure there isn't a next life to be had.

.

_Bruce_

_._

Bruce knows these men can't be trusted, which puts them just about level with everyone else in the world. They want a mutt to order around, and that's fine, Bruce can be that mutt, so long as they keep leaving their notes out like they think he can't read. These scientists have the most beautiful collection of books he's ever dreamed of.

Bruce will swallow anything they give him just to stay.

.

_Tony  
><em>

_._

It's only a proto-type, only the skeleton of an idea. Tony's sick of being too short to serve, sick of being too smart to make a difference on the front line.

"When my boys go to sleep, they're blessing you, Rogers," one of the captains says, and yeah, yeah. The world loves him for his weaponry, fine. But Tony's a selfish type of guy. He wants more love than that.

.

_Natasha._

_._

After her third murder, they leave her mostly alone. The streets are only dangerous if you're afraid of blood, and Natasha's never been that, not even with the dead bird she'd found in the playground at Kindergarten, when a few girls had shrieked and a few boys had looked sick, but Natasha had just looked closer. When the teacher asked if the dead bird made her sad, Natasha had said yes. The bird couldn't fly anymore. And staring past her father's face as he moved in closer, his face and hands coming closer, she'd later think there was nothing more tragic than that.

.

.

.

tbc


End file.
